


Too Close To The Sun

by shelny18



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelny18/pseuds/shelny18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sighed as he looked down at the grave, tracing the smooth letters as he seated himself on the wet grass.</p><p>"Hi," he said quietly. "It's been a year."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Close To The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> So I was listening to a lot of Ian McNabb as I was supposed to be seeing him tomorrow, and once again this song jumped out as an E/R one. As it's been doing that for a year, I figured I'd finally write it.

He sighed as he looked down at the grave, tracing the smooth letters as he seated himself on the wet grass.

"Hi," he said quietly. "It's been a year. A very, _very_ long year. It doesn't get any easier you know. You… You meant a lot. To everyone. Hell, to me. Especially to me. But you knew that. At least, I hope you did. I don't remember if I ever actually told you. I think I did, but you could have been asleep or it could have been a dream, or it could have been something I've imagined saying. I've done that a lot. Thought of all the things I could have said. All the things I should have said. Like that one."

He traced the letters again. "You were too young for this. Far too young. And I know you hated to hear it, but you were so damn special. I should have made sure I told you every fucking day, but you'd try to shut me up every time I did. You told me that I was wrong, that it wasn't true, that it wasn't important and we had more pressing matters to attend to and talk about. But really you were wrong. You were my shining light, and you were a shining light to anyone you met. If you were here you would have disagreed, you always did when I tried to tell you anything like this, but you're not. If I'm honest, it feels colder without you here.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Stupid clichés. You always hated them. I asked you out using one I seem to remember. Used the crappiest pick up line I could think of, gave you the most clichéd first dates I could think of… I was even planning some foolish way to ask you to marry me. The dinner, the champagne, the getting down on one knee… I had it all planned."

Sighing once more, he touched the date, fingers smoothing away the rain still there from that morning before sliding down to the age.

"You always said you'd never reach thirty. Always thought you'd die young. I bet you never thought it'd end up how it did though. You once commented that your heart was fragile, that it wasn't intended to survive, that you wanted to live while you could and make your mark on the world. Well you did, and you made your mark on me."

He knelt forwards, resting his forehead against the grave and letting his eyes slip shut, not even realising friends were standing at the entrance to the graveyard, watching.

"You knew we couldn't win," he whispered. "You fucking knew. And yet you didn't listen to me when I told you to stay away. You came anyway. I tried to reach you when things went south, when the police started attacking us, I really did, but you were too far away."

Combeferre took half a step forwards, every cell in his body urging him to comfort the grieving man, remembering the screams and fighting followed by tears then finally numbness that had overcome the man a year ago to the day, at a protest about changes to education. Bossuet stopped him, shaking his head slightly, and he nodded once, indicating that he would wait.

"You once said I'd never miss you, during one of our fights," he continued, voice shaking slightly now as he struggled to contain his tears. "That if you left it'd be days before I'd even notice. You were wrong. I miss you every second of every day. I… I loved you. I still love you. I will always love you. I just wish it had been me, or that I could have gone with you. Maybe if Cosette is right and there is a god then I'll see you again one day. I hope so. I can't last forever, not without you by my side."

Standing slowly, he wiped the tears that had escaped away and read the gravestone.

_Here lies Grantaire Johnson_  
 _26 years old_  
 _Much loved friend, partner and son_  
 _30.5.1986 - 27.3.2013  
May these angel wings escort you from your sleepy dreaming bed_

Jehan had chosen the words, Courfeyrac had supplied the picture of the wings to be carved next to them. It was one Grantaire had drawn years before, the first day he saw Enjolras.

"I love you," Enjolras murmured, touching the stone one last time before turning and finally noticing his friends. They made their way towards him, taking it in turns to step forwards and place something by the grave. Most had flowers of some sort, but Feuilly placed down a small carving of Apollo and Dionysus which he had finished only days before, Bahorel placed next to it a bottle of wine, and Jehan a scroll tied tightly with a green ribbon containing all of Grantaire's favourite poetry.

Combeferre then indicated for everyone to leave for now, touching Enjolras's shoulder softly to let him know they'd be there if he needed them before following himself, the group waiting once more by the gate.

"I love you," Enjolras said one last time, voice firmer now as he crouched and placed a small black box between the carving and the scroll. Inside was the ring he'd been planning to give Grantaire the year before, on their third anniversary.

Standing, he turned and walked away, somehow managing a weak smile for his friends when he joined them.

"A drink," Courfeyrac declared, looking round at everyone. "That's what Grantaire would suggest, so that should be our plan."

With murmurs of agreement the group of friends slowly moved away, walking the by-now familiar path to the Corinthe and seating themselves at the bar, all resigned to living yet another year without their friend beside them.


End file.
